Cuba.
Two fleets faced each other across the blockade line, locked in a tense standoff on the endless ocean.
The atmosphere was razor-sharp, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
A freighter from the Soviet Union slowly stead toward Arican waters, as if deliberately taunting them.
"Commander, three minutes until it crosses the blockade line!"
On the U.S. flagship, a subordinate reported in a grave tone to the highest-ranking officer on deck.
But the commander had already spotted the vessel through his binoculars. The pressure hanging over the scene was suffocating, making it hard to breathe—let alone make a decision that could trigger World War III.
Still, so choices had to be made.
"If they cross that line, it's on them."
The commander murmured under his breath, then gave the order without hesitation. "Sound the battle alarm!"
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
The shrill alarm blared across the fleet. The Arican forces instantly went to battle stations.
Across the water, the Soviet fleet saw the shift and responded imdiately, mirroring the Aricans by preparing for combat as well.
Tension escalated sharply.
At this mont, everyone on both sides—Arican and Soviet alike—focused all their attention on that freighter edging toward the blockade line.
The next three minutes would decide the fate of the entire world.
Hearts pounded in chests as the ship drew closer, breath by breath.
So clenched their fists, unable to help themselves.
Fortunately, just before the critical mont, the Soviets received a direct order from command: halt the freighter and turn it around!
In other words, stop provoking the U.S.!
Whoosh—
A collective sigh of relief swept through the Soviet fleet. The nightmare of a potential World War III had, at least for now, been averted.
"This is the Aral Sea! Respond, Aral Sea!"
"This is a direct order: return to Odessa imdiately!"
But…
Sothing went wrong.
Despite multiple orders, the freighter ignored every command and continued heading for the blockade line.
The very air over the ocean seed to grow heavier.
WHOOSH!
Just then, a sleek, futuristic aircraft roared overhead, breaking through the tension like a bolt of lightning.
"What the hell?"
"Where'd that jet co from?"
Both fleets were stunned. The appearance of the jet seed to co out of nowhere. No one could tell whose side it belonged to.
But given the delicacy of the situation, neither fleet dared open fire.
One stray shot could set the world ablaze.
So, confused but cautious, both sides held their fire and simply stared as the jet zipped past, practically showing off.
Unmistakably, it was the Blackbird Jet—the signature aircraft of the mutant team.
Hank had gone full throttle to make it in ti, arriving right at the turning point of history.
Inside the cabin, the mutants were all stunned by the explosive tension unfolding before their eyes.
It was like standing at the foot of a rumbling volcano—one spark away from total eruption.
"This is a total ss," Hank muttered, stunned by the chaos.
"What's with that freighter? Is the Soviet Union really trying to start a war?" Raven frowned deeply, her expression as stern as cold steel.
Clearly, Sebastian Shaw's ddling had worked.
"No, this isn't the Soviets' doing," Charles replied. He closed his eyes and extended his psychic reach, latching onto soone aboard the Aral Sea.
Within seconds, he had scanned a dying mind and uncovered the truth.
"It's Shaw," Charles said darkly. "He tampered with the navigation—he's directing the ship himself."
"If that freighter crosses the blockade, we'll be forced to fire. And that ans war." Moira's face turned pale.
"Can't you make soone on board turn the ship around?" Alex asked urgently.
"I can't," Charles shook his head. "Everyone aboard is already dead."
He'd only managed to read the last flicker of consciousness in a dying crewman. There was no one left alive to influence.
"This is Captain Alexander Novitsky of the Soviet Navy! We've lost control of the freighter!"
"We've issued a recall order. I repeat—do not open fire!"
"Please, do not fire!"
A voice rang out across the sea, pleading from the Soviet side.
But the Aricans didn't buy it. They thought it was a trick—and began their countdown to launch.
This was it. The point of no return.
Charles acted without hesitation. He reached across the waters and took control of a Soviet officer, forcing a missile launch.
A single shot streaked through the sky—BOOM!
The Aral Sea was obliterated just before it could cross the line.
Whoosh—
Every single person—Arican, Soviet, and mutant—let out a breath they didn't know they were holding.
With the freighter destroyed, neither side had a reason to fight.
World War III had been averted.
Now, the mutants could finally turn their attention back to the real threat: Sebastian Shaw.
But there was a problem. Charles still couldn't sense Shaw's presence at all.
"He's definitely down there. We just have to find him," Erik said firmly.
"Hank?" Charles turned to the pilot.
"Nothing on radar," Hank replied. "He's underwater sowhere—but we don't have sonar."
No sonar ant no way to scan beneath the waves.
"Who says we don't have sonar?" Alex suddenly smiled.
"Exactly. Who says we don't?" Mystique chid in with a smirk.
Everyone instantly understood.
They had banshee—a living, breathing sonar system.
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